


bad word

by Zoadgo



Series: Smutember 2017 [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hate Sex, Oral Sex, Taunting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 12:18:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12035733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoadgo/pseuds/Zoadgo
Summary: For Smutember Day 4 : Oral Sex





	bad word

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [Bad Word](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VCZXG1biWzk) by Panicland.

Murphy only has one constant in his life, amidst the ever changing shit show of his minimum wage job and hectic socializing, and that’s movie nights with Raven and Bellamy. Every two weeks he makes sure to be off early enough to catch the late showing of some new movie with plenty of explosions, just to be able to hang out with his two closest and most stable friends.

Of course, ever since they both started college and apparently fell somewhat in love with the same girl, it’s been a little different. Because now, when they all meet up at Murphy’s beforehand to pick out the movie and which snacks they’re going to smuggle into the theater, Clarke Griffin is there. Clarke Griffin, who hates Murphy’s guts and doesn’t hesitate to tell him so at any opportunity.

And, of course, she’s incredibly punctual. Which is why she showed up well before Raven and Bellamy, and why Murphy is now watching her look at all of his worldly possessions as if they’re demonic artifacts.

“So… ruin any relationships lately?” Murphy says out of the blue. He knows it’s a low blow, but he honestly doesn’t care. He knows it will get a rise out of her, and he’d far rather that than Clarke just standing awkwardly in his kitchen. Hell, he enjoys riling Clarke up and getting her to fight him, angry Clarke is stupidly attractive. She clenches her jaw, and Murphy can practically hear her trying to talk herself down from snapping at him, so he helps her make up her mind. “Because I know some real happy people if you’re looking for a new target. Not childhood friends turned to lovers and total emotional support kind of happy, but-”

“Murphy, you’re a stain on society and if it weren’t for the fact that you’ve somehow convinced Raven and Bellamy to like you, I wouldn’t be caught dead in the same room as you.” Clarke advances angrily on Murphy as she rants, and he smirks, not backing up in the slightest. “So, in light of that, could you please not talk to me until they get here? Just, pretend to not exist or something.”

“Wow, that hurts my feelings, princess.” Murphy teases, and his grin grows as Clarke flushes with rage. God he loves being able to talk shit with someone who gives as good as she gets. He wonders if she’s like that in other ways, too… Would she slap him if he pulled her hair? Now that could be fun.

“You don’t have any feelings.” Clarke’s voice is laden with disdain, and Murphy simply shrugs, glancing down at her lips.

“Oh, I can think of a few feelings I have.” Murphy licks his lips, slow and lascivious, and Clarke’s eyes flicker to the movement. She seems to notice how close they are in that moment, she hastens a step back in order to stubbornly cross her arms over her chest.

“You’re disgusting.”

Murphy can tell she means it. She really hates him, looks at him like something unsavoury stuck to the bottom of her shoe. And yet… She always seems to show up early, or stay late, or end up alone with him at parties. Just to scold him and insult him, and hey, Murphy’s into that. There’s no way she hasn’t picked up on that, he’s not exactly subtle about… well, about anything.

“You like it,” Murphy states soundly, and Clarke sucks in a swift lungful of air.

“I do not,” Clarke says, indignant and entirely unconvincing. Murphy chuckles and leans in, placing his mouth directly next to her ear, not failing to notice the breath catch in her throat at the motion.

“You hate me,” Murphy whispers, dragging his eyes over the goosebumps forming on her neck, “And you like hating me. I’m disgusting, a miscreant, criminal scum. And you want me.”

“I want you,” Clarke practically growls through clenched teeth, “to leave me alone.”

Clarke grabs the lapels of Murphy’s shirt and pushes him backs, and he actually stumbles a little, surprised by her strength. Now, if Murphy had somehow been wrong, and Clarke really hated him, she would have let him go and he would have accepted the reaction with another snarky jab. But instead, Clarke continues pushing Murphy backs, fists against his chest, and he oh-so happily lets her until his back hits the wall.

“You’re lying,” Murphy breathes into the scant air between them.

“Fuck you,” Clarke hisses, her eyes fixed on Murphy’s lips.

“If you insist.” Murphy quirks a brow at her. He’s not going to make the move, he wants her to cave, to give in to the fact that she hates him and wants him. He’s already accepted the same for her; granted, hate-fucking is one of his favourite things.

Clarke mutters another curse under her breath, and then one of her hands is in Murphy’s hair, tangling there and pulling his mouth roughly down to hers. There’s not a moment of hesitation in the kiss, nor a moment of tenderness. From the start, it’s bruising force and teeth pulling at flesh; hungry and violent and perfect. Murphy hisses into it, entirely pleased as Clarke digs the nail of the hand still on his chest into him, blunted by the shirt but definitely known. He retaliates with grabbing her hips roughly, pulling her to him and grinding filthy against her.

Clarke yanks on his hair, pulling him back and holding him away from kissing her again, and Murphy hates the distance but loves the force. “You’re already that hard, fucking pathetic.”

“Damn straight.” Murphy grinds against Clarke again, and he watches her bite her lower lip, “But I’d bet you’re not in much better shape than me.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” Clarke growls, and Murphy smirks before flipping them around, pressing Clarke into the wall and relishing her gasp as he hikes one of her legs up onto his hip.

“I know you’re better than me. Better than this. And yet it still gets you so hot,” Murphy rolls his hips against her again, “right here.”

“Shit,” Clarke gasps, and Murphy devours her mouth in his for another kiss. Like this, her hands find his back, sliding under his shirt and god those nails are definitely going to leave marks. He breaks away after a second with a shit-eating grin.

“What, no retort?” Murphy goads her, and Clarke twists her clawed hand on his back, drawing a groan from Murphy.

“I hate you.”

Murphy leans in to whisper in her ear. “I know.”

His mouth moves to her neck, and Murphy bites down on the flesh there. No sucking, just a quick, firm bite to cause pain and leave little to no mark. He doesn’t want to scare Clarke off with hickies - at least not where people can see them. Maybe under her shirt, or other places that won’t be seen so readily… But if she has to come up with excuses for hickies, he’s quite sure there won’t be a next time to this.

“Fuck, that hurts!” Clarke exclaims, and Murphy licks at the sore flesh with a flattened tongue.

“Want me to stop?” He mutters against her skin, moving his mouth lower to her shoulder, and he swears she actually trembles.

“Did I tell you to stop? Of course not.” Clarke sounds entirely fed up with him, and Murphy loves it.

“As your highness commands,” Murphy quips before sinking his teeth in for another quick bite and sharp gasp.

“I hate that name,” Clarke groans, one of her hands slipping out of his shirt to weave into his hair again, delivering a punishing yank.

“Oh, I know,” Murphy says. He slides his hands around to her back and teases along the waistband of her jeans, delighting in the way she arches against him. “But you hate so many things, I get so tired caring about it.”

“You never cared about anything I hated.” Clarke pulls Murphy’s head back and leans in to return his favour on his neck, and Murphy moans happily at the pain.

“Not true. You hate me, and I care about me a lot.” Murphy chuckles as Clarke mutters something angrily against his throat, “And you hate this, and I definitely care about this.”

Murphy snakes his hands to the front of Clarke’s jeans, leaning back slightly to undo the button there. She shifts to allow him the room to work the fly, and the top of her simple black panties are revealed to him.

“I hate that you’re not doing anything,” Clarke growls, practically a command.

“Oh, I can rectify that.” Murphy promises, before taking Clarke’s leg off on his hip to return both of her feet to the ground. Much and he would like to take her, quick and dirty, against the wall or to hoist her and carry her over to the couch - or maybe the kitchen table, it’s far closer - neither of those sound all that practical to him. But tangling his hand in her hair at the roots, and walking her backwards to the table works beautifully, and Murphy’s cock twitches at the hateful look she gives him as he does so.

When Clarke’s ass hits the edge of the table, Murphy can’t tell whose hands get to the waist of her pants quicker, hers or his. Regardless, in short order Clarke is stepping out of her pants, and Murphy’s hoisting her onto the thankfully clutter free surface. Murphy leans in to kiss Clarke, his hands going to the fly of his own pants, but she pushes him back with a hand on his shoulder.

“On your knees,” she orders, and as much as Murphy just wants to fuck her then and there, her ordering him around is better than he had ever imagined it could be. He sinks to kneel between her legs as she spreads her thighs, her hands finding purchase in his hair again.

Murphy considers diving in, but she hadn’t actually told him to do that, and as much as he’d do anything she tells him to right now, he’s going to force her to spell it out. Plus, he’d had those ideas for parts of her covered by clothes… Murphy grins before pressing a light kiss to the inside of her thigh, just above the knee; marking his target with his lips.

He waits a moment, grips Clarke’s legs firmly and lets her question what exactly he’s doing since he’s not doing what she obviously wanted him to. Then he sinks his teeth into her leg, closing his lips against the skin in order to apply suction as he holds the grip. Clarke gasps at the bite, and then her hands start to twist in his hair as he continues applying pressure and pain. Not pulling him away, definitely not, but squirming in the most delightful way. Her leg twitches, and Murphy holds it still for him for another three long seconds before letting go of her with a pop.

He laves the skin with his tongue, somewhat soothing it as Clarke lets out an almost sob. Murphy moves one of his hands higher, slipping it in between her thighs to grind the heel of his palm against her pussy. Not anything specific enough to give her release, but something enough to give her a rush of pleasure with the pain. Clarke grinds into his hand, and curses him violently as Murphy takes his hand away. He looks at his mark, pleased with the fresh angry red and hints of purple that he knows will last. He wonders if she’ll look at it tomorrow. Maybe she’ll get off, remembering him biting her, marking her, pressing her thumb into the bruise to bring back an echo of the sensation… Fuck, the unlikely thought of it is enough for Murphy.

“Murphy, if you don’t put that mouth where it belongs right now, I swear to fucking god,” Clarke scolds, and Murphy looks up at her, loving the flush on her cheeks.

“And where does it belong? Here?” Murphy nips at the skin a little higher up her thigh. “Or here?” He bites at her other leg. “Maybe here?” Murphy bites in the hollow of her hip, and Clarke moans as he sucks another bruise into her flesh.

“You know where I want it,” Clarke groan when Murphy leans back to admire his newest mark.

“Clearly I don’t. I’m an idiot, remember?” Murphy teases, and Clarke sighs sharply before yanking his hair roughly, positioning him in front of her pussy.

“Here. Moron,” Clarke mutters the last under her breath, and Murphy feels that’s as close to a term of endearment as he’ll get from her, which suits him just fine.

He doesn’t waste any more time with witty retorts, in fact he can’t come up with many more right now. Murphy slides his hands in order to spread Clarke’s lips, licking a long line up the heat of her and relishing the moan she lets out. He continues with slow, hard licks up the center of her until Clarke tugs sharply on his hair, a warning. At that, Murphy begins to move his tongue more earnestly, spearing it into her for a moment before dragging it up and paying attention to her clit to draw breathy moans from Clarke’s throat and squirms from her hips.

“Finger me,” Clarke demands, her voice needy and yet somehow still domineering. Murphy is only too happy to oblige, sinking two fingers into Clarke and thrusting them as he focuses more on her clit with his mouth. He alternates on sucking on the sensitive bundle of nerves and pressing on it with the flat of his tongue.

“More,” Clarke moans and Murphy slides a third finger into her. He moves his hand urgently and flicks her clit with his tongue as he feels her begin to rock against him, seeking friction and fullness and, as she’d said, more.

“Fuck, Murphy, Jesus Christ.”

Murphy’s name sounds like a curse among the string of expletives she lets out, and he absolutely loves it. He can feel her clench around him, and Murphy continues to roughly finger fuck her and eat her out through her orgasm, until Clarke’s grip on his hair turns from pulling him into her to yanking him away.

Murphy licks his lips slowly as he leans back, looking up at Clarke and catching her watching him through the haze of her orgasm. He accentuates the motion, and she rolls her eyes as Murphy pushes himself to his feet.

“I still hate you,” Clarke mutters at him, and Murphy grins, dragging his wet fingers against her sensitive pussy and earning himself a gasp and a glare.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Murphy says, before leaning in and kissing her. Clarke’s tongue slides into his mouth, and he groans at the idea of her tasting herself on him. She sinks her teeth into his lower lip and then sucks it into her mouth, one of her hands leaving his hair to slide between their bodies and cup him through his jeans. Murphy barely holds himself back from bucking into her palm, pants painfully tight.

“God, why-” Clarke begins, but a harsh and non-ignorable buzz rips through the apartment. They both jump slightly, and Murphy turns to glare at his door, or more specifically, the intercom unit next to it. It buzzes again, and Clarke shoves him away.

Murphy stumbles back, and as Clarke pulls her pants up, he roughly adjusts his erection. The buzzer comes three more times in quick succession, and Murphy growls as he stalks over to it. He presses the button to answer it and barks out “I hate you.”

“Love you too!” Raven’s eternally cheery and sarcastic voice comes crackling through, “Now let us up, asshole. Bellamy’s worried you killed Clarke, she hasn’t responded to her texts in, like, ten minutes which is apparently the end of the world.”

Murphy can’t come up with any answer Clarke won’t absolutely kill him for, so he simply buzzes them in with a grin, turning to find Clarke frowning at him.

“They never find out about this.” Clarke dictates, and Murphy shrugs, leaning casually against the wall. Or as casually as one can lean with a boner that he really needs to deal with in the few minutes it’ll take for the ancient elevator to bring Bellamy and Raven up.

“Of course. So long as we even out the record.” Murphy raises a brow, levelling a challenge of sorts to Clarke, who looks at his crotch like it’s a piece of dog shit. It’s almost comical, really.

“I-”

“-hate me, I know.” Murphy pushes off the wall and brushes past Clarke to the bathroom, pausing just past her shoulder to say, “Pleasure doing business with you.”

Murphy doesn’t hear all of the curses she throws at him after he closes the bathroom door, but he gets the gist of it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not saying much on my smutember works, but feel free to find me [](http://jonnmurphy.tumblr.com)


End file.
